Biohazard Part 1: The Arklay Conspiracy
by Reneg4deMarauder
Summary: A series of strange murders begin to plague the growing midwestern town of Raccoon City, puzzling the Raccoon Police Department's Detectives Carlsen and Ford. When things begin to spiral out of control, the RPD's Special Tactics and Rescue Squad are called in and make a horrifying discovery deep in the foothills of the Arklay Mountains. MA for explicit violence, language
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: This is the first part of a multi-part story meant to retell the Resident Evil story in a way that further explains backstory of certain well-known events, further fleshes out characters (especially secondary characters), fills in a number of plot holes, and does away with some of the less believable aspects of the games. The Arklay Conspiracy covers the events of the first game and its leadup. As stated on my profile, criticism is welcome, just please be constructive, and I'll apologize ahead of time for how long it may be between chapters. So, to conclude, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy._

* * *

 _No no no no no…_

Shelly Lee sprinted erratically through the dark forest, feeling rough branches slap at her as she fled. The cause of her flight was closing in behind her. The dark form rocketed on all fours through the underbrush at a rate of speed she couldn't hope to attain.

Only moments ago, Shelly had been in her makeshift campsite in the Arklay Forest with a couple of her college friends. They had decided to celebrate the weekend after a particularly rough week of classes with some booze that Lisa pilfered for the underage trio. Now she had no idea where her friends were or if they were even still alive. The monsters – whatever they were – had burst from the tree line shortly after nightfall, a couple of the black shapes dragging Oliver away as at least half a dozen more chased Shelly and Lisa into the darkness. Lisa hadn't made it far before one of the monsters must have caught her, judging by the shrieking still ringing in Shelly's ears. She realized, her panic deepening, that she was all alone save for the loudly panting creatures, the even rhythm of their galloping feet drawing uncomfortably close.

"Please, oh please oh please, just go away!" she shrieked between frantic gulps of air.

There was a demonic howl, low and snarling, from behind her in response.

The trail came back into focus for only a moment as the moonlight peeked through the leafy canopy above, but it was just enough for Shelly to see the direction she needed to go. Lungs burning and muscles beginning to cramp, she forced herself onward with every ounce of strength she could muster.

That was when her foot caught on the root.

Shelly struggled to recover her footing but instead found herself careening into a thick tree trunk, the impact sending her flailing face first into the thick underbrush. Her skin stung where the tree's rough bark had scraped it raw. She groaned and tried to move, but her body refused to budge.

A heavy weight landed on her back, pinning her to the ground. She struggled violently, fingers clawing at the soft dirt below, but whatever was on top of her was too strong and she knew it was all over. It yanked at Shelly's hair, twisting her head violently to the side. Her panicked scream was reduced to a choking wheeze as powerful jaws clamped tight around her throat. Her windpipe crushed easily under the immense force. Large teeth found purchase on one exposed calf as another set ripped a chunk of her bicep away with a sickeningly wet smack, and Shelly continued to try in vain to scream, clawing at the soft dirt in a doomed effort to get away until the jaws around her neck closed further, puncturing her carotid artery in a spray of red as the world went black.

* * *

"Jesus, what a mess."

Detective Neil Carlsen ran a hand through his uncombed blonde hair as he walked towards the scene. Two victims, one in the campsite, one in the underbrush just beyond a cheap, orange tent, if what the Arklay County Sheriff's Department had relayed was still accurate. _And at this point,_ thought Carlsen, _bodies is a rather generous description._

The first warm beams of early morning sunlight shining through the haze and thick foliage contrasted the chill brought on by the gruesome display ahead. The first thing he noticed was the stench of what he soon realized was a combination of blood and spilled bowel contents. The one victim he could see had been completely torn apart, only sparse tatters of pale skin still clinging to dark red strings of muscle and slimy sinew. Yellow-white bone protruded from the gore in a number of places, most conspicuously where the few intact ribs arced over what remained of the hollow chest cavity. The small plants around the body, once bright green with fresh growth, were stained dark crimson. Carlsen forced himself to look away.

The game warden who had found the bodies gave him and Detective David Ford, both with the Raccoon Police Department's homicide division, a brusque nod before hurriedly moving to meet them. Behind the warden, the medical examiner was already silently at work. A couple nearby sheriffs' deputies watched her with morbid curiosity as others combed the campsite for evidence the killer may have left behind. A few were taking pictures. He noticed with a hint of unease that two of them also carried large hunting shotguns. Carlsen fished his badge from his pocket, noting in his peripheral that Ford had done the same. They introduced themselves.

"Ray Hasser, Wisconsin Department of Fish and Wildlife. Call me Ray."

Hasser was a lean man, his cheekbones appearing somewhat gaunt in the early morning light. From the faint odor of tobacco, Carlsen could tell he had been smoking recently. There was a certain blank look in his eyes, a look Carlsen knew well from his years working with homicide.

"What happened out here Ray?" Ford asked.

Joining in step with Ford and Carlsen, Hasser led the way back towards the first body. "Two victims, late teens to early twenties. One male one female. Looks like they were probably drinking," He began, pointing at an overturned bottle of cheap vodka. There was still some of the clear liquor inside, refracting the sun's rays in a rainbow pattern on the ground. Hasser paused, eyes lowering to his boots. "Just looked like another one of those animal attacks to me at first," he added, referencing a pair of fatal maulings that had occurred earlier that month in the foothills of the Arklay Mountains – just north of Raccoon City. "But the ME over there thought something was off. Usually large predators eat just about everything – muscle, guts, even some of the bones – but as you can see, there's an awful lot of soft tissue that wouldn't normally get left behind. And when I got here, there weren't any of the usual scavengers, which is weird to say the least. Usually they find stuff like this pretty quick, so something was probably keeping them away. Turns out, not all the bite marks are from animals."

"Meaning…?" Ford led, but Carlsen was pretty sure he already knew the answer.

Hasser swallowed nervously. "Some of those bite marks are human. Actually, more than just some. Someone was chewing on these folks for what seems to be the better part of last night before wandering off maybe a few hours before I got here."

 _Some of the bite marks are human…_ _Well, at least being called out here at the ass-crack of dawn makes more sense now._

As they finished their approach, Doctor Mitaki rose to her feet and peeled off her blood-smeared blue gloves, gingerly placing them in an orange biohazard bag. She greeted them and shook their hands, an introduction being wholly unnecessary. Doctor Anna Mitaki had worked with the RPD on a number of occasions, and had a good reputation with the homicide department as something of a forensics genius.

Carlsen tried to fight the bile rising in his throat as the corpse's smell overpowered his senses. He had never gotten used to the unique, pervasive odor of fresh corpses, and it was considerably stronger here than he had ever before encountered. "Well, Doc?"

"I won't have a whole lot to offer that you don't already know until I can do a proper autopsy. This is fucked up. Who even does something like this?"

No one offered an answer. Deputies Van Zandt and Stephenson filled in the detectives on why they hadn't just taken care of the case themselves – they were already stretched pretty thin with budget cuts and had no dedicated homicide team, and figured it may have been related to the animal attacks that had already occurred on the edge of the RPD's jurisdiction.

The deputies helped Mitaki move both bodies into black, rubber bags and down the short trail back to her waiting van. Carlsen and Ford began to look around, hoping to discover any evidence the sheriff's deputies had missed. Carlsen wasn't very hopeful – from what he could tell the deputies had been rather thorough. There were already yellow markers placed wherever something of even marginal importance had been found, each one numbered for easy reference.

"Cannibals? Really?" Ford muttered under his breath.

Carlsen shook his head, still in partial disbelief. "I guess so."

"Seems almost like something out of a horror movie." He paused, brow furrowing as he stared intently at the ground. "Hey, some of the brush is trampled down here."

Sure enough, there was a faint path leading through the dew-covered grass and low shrubs into the tree line. Ford took the lead, Carlsen trailing a few yards behind. They carefully continued to comb the forest floor as they moved down a slight decline deeper into the woods. The trail veered sharply to the left, merging with a well-worn deer path.

Something didn't feel right. Carlsen realized that the horrible stench from the crime scene above, which should have been getting fainter, was instead growing more potent the further they went. He warily scanned the thick forest around him, no longer as concerned with the evidence he might find on the ground.

About a hundred yards further ahead was the source. A third victim, considerably more masticated than the other two, lay face down in a cluster of ferns. There were tiny bits of gore everywhere. A patch of long, dark hair, now matted with crusted blood, stuck out of a tattered flap of scalp still clinging to the victim's skull.

"You've got to be kidding me. Another one?"

"The hell did they miss this?" Ford remarked with incredulity.

The detectives met back up with Mitaki and, once the third body had been tagged and bagged for the morgue, called the watch lieutenant on their car phone.

"Lieutenant Edwards," growled the voice on the other end, sounding decidedly grumpy. If memory served, Edwards was very much not a morning person. "How can I help you?"

Carlsen brought Edwards up to speed, voicing his concern over the size of the crime scene and the possibility of other victims.

There was momentary silence before Edwards gave an overwhelmed sigh. "I suppose I could see if the Chief will let us send in a STARS team to help. They're better equipped for this kind of thing than Sheriff Williamson's people."

"That's probably a good idea."

"I'll put you on hold while I ask."

There was a click before the crackly, generic hold music began to play softly over the line.

The Special Tactics and Rescue Squad, or STARS for short, fulfilled the role of a traditional SWAT team and also conducted most of the RPD's search and rescue operations. With their superior training and combined years of experience, if anyone could find more evidence it would be them.

With another click the music abruptly stopped and Edwards was back. "Bravo Team is on their way, should be there in half an hour."

"Perfect," Carlsen replied, glad to hear the STARS weren't already on assignment somewhere else.

"One more thing," Edwards continued. "The Chief wants this to stay hush-hush for now. He figures with the other maulings and disappearances lately, if word got out it could cause panic."

"Understood. Mum is the word."

* * *

Richard Aiken swatted at the air as another mosquito took off from his skin, heavy with its full payload of blood. It deftly bobbed out of the way of his open palm, flying just out of reach of the frustrated man before he could take another swing. It was just after six and as the late spring heat began to fade, the nasty little bloodsuckers had emerged en masse from whatever accursed swamp they had spawned from. Richard swore silently to himself as he heaved his day pack up into the bed of the waiting pickup while Forrest Speyer, Richard's partner on Bravo Team, ejected a handful of large, red shells from his shotgun before latching it back into its case.

The other four members of Bravo Team had also begun to stow their gear after the long day. They had been searching for almost eleven hours, hiking grid by grid in hopes of discovering the path their friendly bunch of cannibals had taken after devouring their victims. Unfortunately they had had little luck, losing the trail a mere twenty yards past what the coroner had determined to be their last victim. For now at least, the trail had gone cold.

It was nearly half an hour before they made it back to the Raccoon Police Department's headquarters. After all their gear was properly stowed and the shotguns returned to the armory, Captain Enrico Marini - Bravo's team leader - dismissed them for the day.

"Hell of a day, man. I haven't hiked that much in a long time," Forrest stated, finally changing the subject from the day's gruesome spectacle. "You hungry?"

"Dude, I could eat a buffet out of business. But Bridgette will kill me if I'm not home for dinner again," answered Richard as he grabbed his car keys from his personal locker. He had already gotten home late every night the past two weeks. Not to mention, she would probably appreciate finally having a break from their particularly squirrelly toddler.

Forrest chuckled. "Alright. Catch you later man."

"Later."

Richard watched as Forrest left, having to sidle through the open doorway as a slight figure squeezed into the locker room past him with an awkward apology. It was Rebecca Chambers, the new recruit on Bravo Team.

Admittedly, Richard had been surprised that she had made it on to the team. She was inexperienced, having just gotten out of the academy two months ago, and there had been many other candidates who due both to the years under their belts and their solid track records were far more qualified. But both Captains Marini and Wesker had wanted her to fill the recently vacated role of medic, and their word was what mattered. Apparently Rebecca was some sort of biochemistry wiz. Richard wasn't sure how that was relevant, but was willing at the very least to give her a chance. She seemed capable enough and learned quickly, but Richard had some serious doubts about how she would perform if the shit ever hit the fan.

As he closed his locker, it's hinges groaning from years of overuse, Richard noticed that Rebecca's hands shook as she fumbled with the dial on her own locker and that the color had drained from her cheeks.

"Hey - you doing alright?" he asked.

She paused with her fumbling and let out a weary sigh. "Yeah. I just… I didn't expect my first call to be something like that." Her gaze shifted down to her boots.

"One hell of a day, for sure. But it isn't like this usually. More often than not it's just some hiker who wandered off the trail and got lost for a couple hours, or decided to stay out in the woods for an extra day without telling anyone," Richard explained. "Today was just a fluke."

Rebecca nodded, but didn't seem all that reassured. She finally got the locker open, grabbing a small, plain purse before closing it again, and turned to leave.

Halfway out the door, she stopped herself short. "Hey Richard," she began, looking back at him over one shoulder. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. See you tomorrow."

As soon as Rebecca was out of sight Richard let his shoulders slump, the long day finally catching up with him.

 _Today_ was _just a fluke, right?_

* * *

Ford and Carlsen found Doctor Mitaki in Raccoon General's cramped morgue the next morning. Still dressed in her teal surgical gown and cap from her latest autopsy, she attentively tapped away at her computer's keyboard, likely working on a report. Looking up to see the two detectives, Mitaki gave them a weary smile. "Boy am I glad to see you guys. I could use a break from all this damn paperwork."

"Anything we can do to help our favorite ME," Carlsen replied. "What do you have for us?"

She pushed away from the desk, gesturing them to take a seat on the bench next to it. "Frustratingly little for now," she said with a sigh. "The bodies were too mangled to learn much beyond the obvious – mauled to death. Probably died from blood loss, shock, or both. You already know about the human bite patterns, and most of the others were canine, probably scavenging after they were killed but it's hard to get a definitive timeline with so little to go on."

That wasn't good news, but it was about what Carlsen had expected. Rarely was it like on TV where all the evidence necessary was found in a couple weeks. It could take months or years, or more often than not no more evidence would present itself and the mystery would remain unsolved indefinitely. The RPD had been pretty lucky with cut and dry cases so far, maybe it was their turn for a tough break. "Do we have IDs on any of the vics?"

"Two of them so far, a couple local kids going to the college – Lisa Cobrin and Oliver Mosley. They were the two near the campsite. The other body may take longer, but I asked the college to let me know if anyone else turns up missing so hopefully it won't be that long. I also managed to get some skin samples from under Lisa's fingernails that probably doesn't belong to either of the other vics."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. It was really weird though. Some of the preliminary results came back already, which surprised me. They're still waiting to see if there's a DNA match on the database, but they called to let me know that the samples were rotten – as in straight up gangrenous."

Ford furrowed his brow in confusion. "What would have caused that?"

"Hell if I know. Maybe there's a leper colony living up in the hills," Mitaki remarked dryly. "All I can tell you is that there's no way it could have gotten like that in the time it took for the lab to receive the samples. Whoever Lisa Cobrin tried to fight off was already rotting when they were attacked."


	2. Chapter 2

The hot, afternoon sun beat down on the Raccoon Police Department parking lot, causing heat to rise from the blacktop in shimmering waves as the dark blue Mustang rolled to a stop in its reserved parking space. Chris Redfield killed the engine, cutting off John Fogerty's dry voice on the radio before exiting the vehicle and heading inside.

His boots squeaked on the polished tile floor as he entered the station's lobby, a massive and overly lavish chamber full of finely carved woodwork, dominated by a classical Greek-style marble fountain of a woman with a large vase over one shoulder. A few officers in their pale blue uniforms hung idly around the main desk as the lone secretary, a stocky guy named Costello, paged through a thick file folder. Chris returned a few greetings as he passed them and started into the maze of similarly ornate hallways leading up to the STARS office.

Chris wondered, and not for the first time, what the building had been before the RPD had been forced to expand and moved in. Not even a decade earlier, Raccoon City had been just another sleepy farming community nestled into Wisconsin's western uplands, and the RPD was a tiny outfit relying on the county Sheriff's Department for anything that required more tact than your average drunk driver. But then the Umbrella Corporation moved in. The massive pharmaceutical enterprise based out of Philadelphia built a large research plant on the east side of town, and suddenly there were new people and new businesses sprouting up all over the place. An unfortunate side effect to the rapid industrialization of Raccoon was a major spike in the crime rate, which meant the RPD had to increase its size to match. The STARS were a byproduct of this expansion and hired Chris on as their strategic coordinator shortly after his discharge from the Air Force a little over a year ago. Working not only with the RPD but also with the Sheriff's Department and the Stoneville and Arklay City police departments, the STARS managed to keep busy a fair bit of the time, with lost hikers making up the majority of their calls.

He passed Joe Frost, Alpha's lanky sniper and mechanic, who was stubbornly trying to insert a dollar bill into one of the station's vending machines to no avail. "Awe, come on! I just want a damn coke."

Chris chuckled. "Having a bit of trouble there?"

"Machine's broken again," Joe replied with a hint of frustration.

"Seriously? I thought we just got it fixed. C'mon, we're gonna be late."

Joe joined Chris on his way up to the office, asking in a hushed voice, "You hear about the murders?"

"What murders?"

"Yesterday. One of the Fish and Wildlife guys found three bodies in a campsite up in the foothills. Apparently it was pretty gruesome."

"More animal attacks?"

"See, that's the freaky part," Joe continued, in the tone he took when telling the conspiracy stories he had become known for around the office. "They thought so at first. But then the coroner gets the bright idea to check one of the bites that looks a little off. Turns out to be a match to a human bite pattern. So they check out the rest and sure enough, the campers had been eaten by cannibals."

"You're full of it."

"Nah man, I'm telling you the truth."

Chris shook his head in disbelief. "Where'd you hear that?"

"My buddy over at the hospital."

"Then why didn't I see anything in the paper this morning?"

"Even the press can't get news out that fast, maybe," Joe said with a shrug.

"Maybe. I still think it's BS. I mean, cannibals? What's next? Killer clowns? I think your friend has been watching a few too many horror movies."

"Stranger things have happened, Chris."

"I dunno…"

They entered the over-packed STARS office. Chris took a seat, moving a handful of paperwork off his keyboard and onto the clutter that was the rest of his desk, accidentally knocking a stack of floppy disks to the floor. Barry Burton, the team's weapon specialist and oldest member, peeked over the divider between their desks before going back to his work. "I don't get how you work with your desk like that," the large, red-bearded man teased in his Boston accent as Chris began to scoop up the disks.

"It's just how I like it – organized chaos."

"Uh huh. Organized. I'll believe it when you stop losing your reports."

"Hey," interrupted Jill Valentine, their EOD expert and Chris' partner on Alpha. "Did any of you guys see Wesker on your way in?" It _was_ rather strange for him to be late, Chris thought – usually the Captain was unfailingly punctual.

Their computer expert and pilot, Brad Vickers, responded from his seat near the radio setup as he apathetically jotted down another answer on his crossword puzzle. "He had some sort of meeting with Chief Irons. Said he'd be back soon."

They didn't have to wait long. The usually stoic Captain looked even more grim than usual as he strode through the door, his lips pursed in a thin line and eyes narrowed. That had to mean bad news, realized everyone on Alpha Team, and Chris couldn't keep his thoughts from drifting back to what Joe had told him on the way to the office.

The Captain took his position behind his desk in the front of the room, but instead of sitting down, he clasped both hands behind his back and slowly began to pace back and forth. "Listen up. Some of you may have heard some rumors about yesterday's events. Two nights ago, three college students now identified as Lisa Cobrin, Oliver Mosley, and Shelly Lee were murdered in the foothills to the west, between here and Arklay City. They were found partially devoured in or near their campsite by Fish and Wildlife. Following the Sheriff's Department turning over the case to the RPD and the discovery of the third victim, Bravo Team was called out to assist in the gathering of any further evidence that may have indicated the current whereabouts or path of egress of the killers." He paused for a moment, scanning the members of Alpha.

Jill raised her hand tentatively. The Captain gestured for Jill to go ahead with her question. "Excuse me sir. Devoured?"

"That is correct. Whoever killed the victims appears to have partially eaten them, as determined by looking at the few identifiable bite patterns. The lab is working on further evidence, but it might be awhile before homicide gets anything back from them that may help them narrow down suspects."

Jill's eyebrows rose in astonishment, but she remained silent, having nothing else to ask.

The Captain continued. "As you can assume, the Chief wants this to stay relatively quiet for now as to avoid any panic. Hazardous wildlife warnings are being issued here in Raccoon as well as in Arklay City and Stoneville, and the murders are going to become public knowledge soon enough, but as is the usual there is to be no mention of cause of death or any other details unless otherwise instructed. The reason I asked the Chief to let me fill you in on this case is because of the unknown whereabouts or numbers of the killers, and the likelihood that if we are sent on any search and rescue operations in the near future we may encounter them or evidence left behind in their wake."

It was Barry's turn to ask a question. "Do we know if this is in any way connected to the people who were mauled to the north?"

"There isn't enough evidence to say for sure or not yet, but it's possible I suppose. For now they are being treated as two separate cases. Any other questions?" No one else raised a hand. "Alright. If no one has anything else pressing that we need to talk about, get down to the armory and grab your gear. We're headed to the range."

* * *

It had only been a week by the time Mitaki got the lab results back. She filled Carlsen and Ford in over the phone – most of it just served to corroborate what they already knew. The saliva found in the wounds was a mix of both human and canine, and the skin found under Lisa Cobrin's fingernails was in fact infected with gangrene as well as at least two types of mold. They had been able to isolate two different DNA profiles from the samples, but neither had turned up on the database. As far as Carlsen could tell, it was another dead end for now.

"Hey, at least we have DNA samples," Ford said, trying to be optimistic.

Carlsen took a sip of coffee, nearly scalding his lips in the process. "I suppose. I guess if we manage to find a suspect we can at least see if they're a match."

"But where are we going to find someone whose skin is rotting off of them? That just doesn't make sense."

Both detectives leaned back in their chairs, fruitlessly trying to make heads or tails of it all. Carlsen had a feeling that the skin samples were the key to their case, but they just had to figure out how it fit.

He absently watched the ceiling fan spin slow circles above them. They had pretty well ruled out anyone in town – it would be hard to miss anyone in that level of decay – so that left the Arklay Forest. The Forest Service hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary yet, but that didn't necessarily count for much. Ford had already gone to the Chief about the idea to send the STARS on a sweep of the trails and roads between Raccoon and Arklay City, but the Chief had refused, claiming that it was too much ground to cover at once and would ultimately be pointless until they could better narrow down where the suspects might be, assuming they were even staying stationary and hadn't just passed through.

The phone began to ring, startling Carlsen out of his thoughts. Ford snatched up the receiver.

"Homicide." There was a pause, and Ford's expression slowly hardened. "Where? Yeah… give us twenty. Bye."

Ford stood rapidly from his office chair. "Another murder like the three last week, this one at Victory Lake Park. Let's go."

That was all Carlsen needed to hear. They quickly walked to the parking garage and grabbed their squad car, making it to the park faster than they had anticipated. There were already a handful of officers on scene, watching to make sure no one crossed the yellow police tape strung up around a large, grassy section of the park between Woodbine Drive and the riverbank. Both an ambulance and Doctor Mitaki's van were already on site, and Carlsen could see her already at work. So far maybe two dozen bystanders had gathered but seemed to be mostly keeping their distance. That was good at least.

Ford groaned. "Ah, shit. That's exactly what we need."

"What?" Carlsen asked, trying to see whatever his partner had noticed. Ford just pointed. It took him a second, but then he saw the attractive blonde in a red pantsuit, glancing side to side before her eyes locked on their car. It was Alyssa Ashcroft, a reporter with the Raccoon Press known for relentlessly sticking her nose wherever it was least convenient for the RPD. She strutted rapidly towards them as they parked, a look of haughty determination across her face. "Oh great. Well, I guess the cat's gonna be out of the bag now."

They got out as she closed the distance, extracting a recorder from her pocket before their doors had even slammed shut.

"Detective Ford, Detective Carlsen," she began. "Good to see you."

"Wish I could say the same, Miss Ashcroft," Ford replied, barely bothering to mask his irritation as they headed for the crime scene, forcing her to change direction and catch up.

"Is that any way to talk to a lady? Look, I just want the scoop on what's happening here."

"You'll get it when the Chief decides you get to know."

She tried to protest, but Ford and Carlsen had already ducked under the tape and left her behind to stew. They had had to deal with her plenty of times, and had learned how to tune her out as they did their jobs.

A petite officer with short, red hair approached them and introduced herself as Officer Coogan before giving them the rundown. "Male victim, mid-fifties, found less than a half hour ago. One of his neighbors already ID'd him as Henry Kazinski, lived about three blocks from here. What little is left of the clothing seems to suggest he was out for a jog."

"Time of death?"

"The ME thinks about five this morning."

"Any footprints or anything that would indicate where the suspect or suspects might have gone?" asked Ford.

"The dirt is still pretty soft from the spring and we were able to follow a single set of tracks, but they dead end at the edge of the river. We haven't been able to find where, if anywhere, they pick back up on the other side."

Carlsen clenched his jaw as the familiar wave of putrid odors assaulted his nose. "Did anyone living in the neighborhood hear anything?"

Officer Coogan shook her head. "Not that we've found so far. There are still a couple officers going door to door, but they should be back any time now."

Ford and Carlsen thanked Officer Coogan as they reached Doctor Mitaki, and she split off to take care of her other duties.

Mitaki rose to greet them. "Looks like the same MO as our cannibals, though there's a lot more left of this guy."

It was true, Carlsen saw. Henry Kazinski had been disemboweled and most of the internal organs were gone, as well as a large portion of one of his legs, but the rest was relatively untouched. His blood-spattered face was forever frozen in a look of shock, his unseeing eyes staring blankly over at the uneasily mumbling crowd that continued to grow a person or two at a time.

As Mitaki continued to fill them in on what little she had been able to deduce thus far, two EMTs approached with a gurney, loading the body onto it and wheeling it back across the grass towards their waiting ambulance.

* * *

A loud crash woke Greg Brookings from his slumber. He lifted his head, blinking rapidly to try and make sense of the darkness around him. Something else clanged, like someone had knocked over an empty pot or something of that nature. It came from outside, in the direction of the edge of the logging camp. He delicately picked up his .357. Its bright nickel finish glinted just slightly in the faint bit of moonlight that glowed in through the trailer's windows.

 _A burglar maybe, or a bear?_ Greg thought as he quietly pulled the sheets back and swung his legs over the side of the mattress, fumbling around for the pair of pants he had left crumpled beside his bed. _What if it's one of those maniacs that they've been talking about in the newspaper the past couple days who eat people?_

He dismissed the thought as ridiculous. No, it was probably just some animal who had smelled the food in their garbage and was looking for a midnight snack. It wouldn't be the first time. Still, he supposed, it would be best to check it out anyway. The big man pulled the pants up around his waist and slid his feet into his boots before snagging a flashlight from near the trailer's door.

The thin, metal door swung open with a soft creak and Greg shut it behind him, careful not to make too much noise. The soft soil beneath his boots muffled his footsteps as he made his way toward the main building, containing the office and kitchen.

As the narrow beam of his flashlight swept across the off-white corrugated steel of the main building, he could hear a faint scuffling noise coming from behind the meager structure. Greg began to round the corner carefully, his grip tightening unintentionally on the revolver's grip. Taking a deep breath he quickly stepped sideways, bringing the rest of the back of the main building into the cone of his light. There was nothing there. _I could've swore I heard-_

Suddenly something slammed into him from behind and he screamed, only managing to squeeze off a single, un-aimed shot before a pair of powerful jaws crushed the vertebrae of his neck and began dragging his now limp form into the underbrush.

The other loggers, jolted awake by the thundering report, began to emerge from their trailers to find out what was going on. Confused and bleary eyed, they flicked on flashlights and began to search the camp. A logger named Benny noticed that Greg was missing and decided to check his trailer only to find him absent. It was one of the newer additions to their crew who finally found the trail of blood leading away from the office into the woods.


	3. Chapter 3

A loud beeping scratched incessantly at the edge of Rebecca's consciousness. She groaned and curled into a ball, willing it to go away, her sleepy mind not yet registering where the noise was coming from or why. The pager went off again and she reached for it, hitting the tiny button to backlight the screen. Her eyes squinted against the sudden, orange glow.

 _Get to the station ASAP._

Now very awake, Rebecca felt her pulse accelerate as she flew into motion. In a flash she was in her forest green uniform that she had left draped over a chair near the foot of the bed and she began to clumsily lace her black patrol boots in the dark. Swiping her keys from the hook near her apartment's door, she half ran-half jogged down the single flight of stairs to her waiting car.

When she got to the station, the rest of Bravo were already donning their black tactical vests and other equipment. She grabbed her own, snugging down the straps around her midsection as Enrico began to explain what little they knew.

"The shift supervisor at a logging camp on the north end of Victory Lake just went missing. The other loggers awoke to a single gunshot and the sound of a man screaming, but when they came out to investigate, there was no one to be seen. One of the loggers noticed that their supervisor, Greg Brookings, hadn't come out to join them and decided to check his trailer, only to find him missing. A little while later, they found his gun and a trail leading into the woods."

"Do they know what it was?" asked Edward Dewey in his gruff voice that to Rebecca made their vehicle specialist seem perpetually irritable.

Enrico shook his head. "Probably just an animal attack, but the loggers are pretty freaked out. They claim the cannibals must have gotten him."

"I guess they get the newspaper out there, too," Forrest quipped derisively, scratching at one of his heavily tattooed arms. He picked up his Mini 14 – a compact, semi-automatic rifle that the marksman seemed to particularly treasure – and checked to make sure the chamber was clear.

Rebecca's apprehension grew as they piled into the waiting SWAT van and started to race north. What if it _was_ the cannibals? A shiver ran down her spine at the possibility. Ken Sullivan, Bravo's mild-mannered electronics specialist and the man in charge of her training, sat next to her. He glanced her way and smiled warmly before saying, "Dang. I was kinda looking forward to sleeping tonight. Seems like we're always the ones on call when something goes wrong lately, huh?"

She ran a hand nervously through her short, reddish-brown bangs. "Yeah. Just another day on the job, right?" Her voice broke a little when she spoke, but Rebecca hoped he hadn't heard it over the noise of the engine.

Ken let out a short laugh, his brilliantly white teeth contrasting the dark interior of the vehicle. "That's the spirit. Just remember to keep your head on a swivel and everything's gonna be just fine."

Soon the nicely paved streets gave way to winding mountain roads, then gravel as they took a switchback a little too fast for comfort. Trees rushed by on either side, flying out of the bright beams of the van's headlights as fast as they appeared.

Bravo arrived at the logging camp in just under half an hour, the van's tires grinding to a halt as they pulled in next to a beat up flatbed. Edward killed the engine. Two Sheriff's cars were already on-site, their flashers painting the scene in otherworldly shades of blue and red as the deputies swept their spotlights back and forth in wide arcs along the western edge of the camp. A small group of terrified looking men milled about in front of a cluster of trailers. Some of them smoked while others just looked on, arms crossed tightly across their chests. Rebecca assumed correctly that they were the loggers.

Enrico went ahead of the group to talk to one of the deputies. After a brief exchange, he returned to give them their orders.

"There's the trail," he began, gesturing at a dark swath of dirt that Rebecca soon realized was soaked in blood. "That's where we start. Spread out a bit, double file, but keep each other in sight. I don't want anyone getting lost out here."

They set off, spreading out as they went. It was slow going through the thick underbrush, but even so Rebecca had to work to keep up with Ken. The night air had cooled considerably from the day's muggy heat, but even so, she could see sweat begin to bead on Ken's dark skin in the reflected illumination of their flashlights. He looked side to side carefully, making sure not to miss any potentially important detail.

Rebecca saw Enrico and Edward stop. Bravo Team came together like an accordion as both trailing pairs caught up to the front where Enrico stood, looking rather sour. His bristly moustache drooped at the corners where the edges of his mouth had turned downward in a stern frown.

"The trail seems to end here," Enrico explained. "Fan out."

The team split off, with Ken on one side of Rebecca and Richard on the other. Even though she could see her nearest teammates – or at least their lights – through the leaves and branches, Rebecca couldn't help but feel alone and extremely vulnerable. Her free hand rest uneasily on the butt of her sidearm as she stepped cautiously over a fallen tree limb. Her shoulders tightened. Gruesome images began to play themselves out in her mind, and shadows began to take on a life of their own as Rebecca's eyes began to play tricks on her in the dark.

 _Get ahold of yourself,_ she thought, admonishing herself for letting her imagination get the better of her. _You wanted this position with the STARS, now stop acting like a scared little kid and focus. Show them you can do your job just as well as any of the rest of the team._

"Hey!" Ken yelled from her right. "I think I've got something over – yikes!"

Ken's sudden shout of alarm sent her running as fast as she could towards his location. Ferns and a few branches slapped at her as she moved. She found him, gun drawn, staring down at a blood-smeared patch of leaves. The blood continued out ahead of him for a few feet before terminating at a crumpled, headless figure at the base of a tree. Shredded strands of muscle and connective tissue protruded messily from the tattered stump where it appeared the head had been violently ripped from the body. The man's dingy shirt was stained brilliant crimson, and his guts were no more than a tattered, bloody void. A short length of intestine trailed out of the hole like a slimy, pink snake. Rebecca could feel the color drain from her face.

It didn't take the rest of Bravo long to catch up. There was obviously no need to check to see if the man was still alive, so they proceeded to secure the scene and make sure whatever had killed him wasn't still nearby. To Rebecca, it all went by in a blur as she tried to compartmentalize what she had seen. Once more deputies showed up, Bravo made their way back to their van and headed back to the station.

The ride back was smoother, but no one said a word the whole time. It seemed no one wanted to voice the fact that things were definitely getting worse. The adrenaline now fully worn off, Rebecca let herself settle into the hard, inward facing seat. A glance at her watch told her it was just before four in the morning, only adding credence to the fatigue that had begun to envelop her. But as tired as she was, Rebecca had a feeling that she wasn't going to be able to fall asleep any time soon.

* * *

"I think the murders and maulings must have something to do with each other," Ford postulated whilst pacing back and forth across their small office. "I mean, is it just a coincidence that they started at about the same time? Up until last month at least, we've had one animal attack in two years. Now it's like open season."

"I dunno. They might be connected, but where's the evidence? Hell, we don't even have a motive yet, if we're even going to find one. For all we know, we're dealing with a band of traveling serial killers who just happen to get their kicks by eating other people."

Carlsen was right, and he could see that Ford knew it as he watched the other detective's shoulders visibly slump. Three people as of the logging supervisor the previous weekend had been mauled and another four murdered and cannibalized, and they had next to no evidence beyond a pair of matchless DNA profiles. And as the cherry on top of the whole shit show, they hadn't even been able to pin down a general location to search, so Chief Irons remained adamant that a large-scale sweep by the STARS was still out of the question for now.

Ford put his hands on his hips and leaned over the ever growing case file. Once he had reached the last report, he slapped his hand down on the stack of papers. "Look. Everything that has happened so far has taken place on the north and west sides of town – that has to mean something."

It was true, and Carlsen kicked himself for not seeing such an obvious pattern sooner. If memory served, there were a large number of buildings including an old, defunct mental hospital and an abandoned mansion to the north that would be perfect for someone or a group of people to hide out in and conduct attacks. It was a bit of a stretch, and it still didn't explain how the animal attacks were connected or any of the case's other odd details, but it was a start.

* * *

Jill Valentine rushed out her front door towards her beat-up, green hatchback. The warm evening air carried the earthy aroma of fresh-cut grass, but she didn't have time to take it in. She was already late for Alpha team's Friday night potluck/poker tournament they held once every couple of months, and almost dropped the container of potato salad she had just finished making whilst trying to hurriedly unlock her car's door. Finally getting it open, Jill set the Tupperware bowl carefully on the passenger seat, where hopefully it would remain for her short drive to the Burtons' house. _I knew I should have started on this yesterday…_

Two high pitched voices called out, "Miss Jill! Miss Jill!"

It was Becky and Priscilla McGee, her neighbors' two young daughters. Both waved eagerly at her from their front yard.

She waved back and gave them a big smile. When Jill had transferred to Raccoon, she hadn't had any friends in town and, not being the best at making new ones, spent most of her free time reading or exercising by herself. But after she helped the two girls track down their lost dog – the big, goofy golden retriever ended up only being a few houses away after they had accidentally let him out while their parents weren't home – the girls had basically adopted her as an older sister of sorts, inviting her to tea parties or bringing her scraggly bundles of flowers they had collected after school. While it likely wouldn't seem like much to most people, for the first time that Jill could remember, she actually felt like a part of a community.

"Hi girls. How are you?"

"Good," answered Becky, the older of the two at nine years old. "Can you come over and play?"

"We're playing pirates! Arrr!" Priscilla exclaimed, a huge grin spreading from cheek to cheek.

Jill couldn't help but chuckle a little. "I would love to," she began, and meant it, "but I've got to get going." She saw their expressions fall, obviously a bit disappointed, so she added, "But I'd love to tomorrow. How does that sound?"

"Okay!" they answered enthusiastically, faces lighting back up.

"Alright. Tomorrow it is. Have a good night, and stay out of trouble you two."

"Bye!"

She started her car and headed off. It wasn't far to the Burton's, and she managed to hit green lights most of the way. The rest of the team sans Wesker was already there when she arrived.

"Well, well," began Chris playfully, sipping from a can of Old Milwaukee beer. "Look who's late again."

"Hey, at least I bring actual food," Jill shot back with a smirk, heading to the kitchen with her potato salad.

"Hey! Beer is actual food." Chris had been permanently put in charge of supplying the beverages after proving his cooking skills so disastrous that it wouldn't surprise her if he'd found a way to burn water.

Kathy Burton, Barry's wife, was the antithesis of her husband – she was soft spoken and mild by comparison to the boisterous giant, spending most of her time as a stay-at-home mom. She set down the knife she was using to slice watermelon and gave Jill a warm hug. "It's good to see you. Go ahead and set what you brought on the counter. Barry should be in with the first batch of brats in the next few minutes."

"Thanks. It's good to see you too."

She set it down and grabbed a beer from the ice chest before heading back to the living room. Taking a seat on the couch and pushing a strand of her brown hair out of her face, she cracked the can open with a crisp _snik._ "I assume the Captain couldn't make it?"

Chris answered as she took a couple large gulps of the cold lager. "Yup. As usual. Said he had a bunch of pressing work matters to attend to, but to go ahead and enjoy ourselves without him and he'd try to catch us next time."

"The man is gonna work himself to death," Joe chimed in. "I don't think he's even taken a vacation since I joined."

"He does seem wound pretty tight lately," observed Jill.

Brad shrugged. "Maybe. But he might just be one of those people who doesn't know how not to work. Think about it – have any of us ever heard him mention any hobbies or friends outside of work?"

"Could just be he likes to keep his private life private – professionalism and all," Joe offered, "But yeah, I get what you mean."

A couple seconds later, Barry's deep voice boomed from outside the sliding glass back door. "Food's up! Get it while it's hot!"

Everyone piled their plates as high as they could. Barry and Kathy's daughters – a little younger than Becky and Priscilla – joined them for a bit. Brad had supplied an abundance of corn on the cob, and Joe brought a fantastic strawberry rhubarb pie for dessert. Funny, Jill thought, that when they had first begun to hold these get-togethers, Joe was the last person any of them had expected to be an avid baker.

Once the girls had been sent to bed and the dishes taken care of, their poker game began. Everyone brought a roll of pennies to bet with, though usually it seemed Joe wound up with all of them at the end of the night.

"You better not be counting cards," Barry teasingly warned after incorrectly calling Joe's bluff and losing almost half his pennies.

"No tricks over here – just admit it old man, I'm better at this than you." A wry grin tugged at the corner of Joe's mouth.

"Old? I'll show you old! Old age and treachery beat youth and skill every time."

Jill stifled a laugh. "Better be careful Barry. The track record shows otherwise."

"Don't remind me," groaned Brad as he looked dejectedly at his dwindling coin supply.

Eventually Joe won, as was to be expected, and they finished cleaning up before everyone went their separate ways for the night. Jill thanked Kathy and Barry for hosting and said goodnight to the guys before heading back towards home.

As Jill turned down her street, she saw flashing lights up ahead. Multiple emergency vehicles, including an ambulance and a handful of police vehicles, were parked in front of the McGees' house. The police seemed agitated, rapidly barking orders and looking up and down the street. Jill could see at least one group sweeping around the back, weapons drawn. Some of them carried AR-15s – the civilian version of the military's standard M-16 rifle. The entire back yard was cordoned off with police tape. _What the hell is going on?_

She parked her car and got out, stomach doing backflips as she approached the mass of cops. Whatever this was, it wasn't good. Jill recognized Marvin Branagh, one of the Sergeants on nights and likely the person in charge, and caught his attention.

"What's going on over here?" she asked, a bit of panic beginning to seep into her voice.

"Officer Valentine. What are you doing here?" Branagh asked, confused.

Jill sighed heavily, unintentionally coming off as impatient. "I live next door. Please, just tell me what's going on."

Branagh's brow furrowed as he decided what to say, or if he should say anything at all. After a second he made up his mind and took a deep breath before saying, "Two victims, ages seven and nine. Their parents called it in just a little bit ago. We got here as fast as we could, but they were already gone."

Jill's heart dropped like a chunk of lead. "No. No no no no no no no…" Her vision began to cloud as she failed to choke back the sudden torrent of emotion.

"It looks like it was the cannibal killers," Branagh finished.

The world began to spin. Jill tasted bile.

At that point, Eric and Marie McGee came out of the house escorted by two somber-faced officers. Eric looked like he was in shock, walking numbly forward, back stiff, his eyes hollow as they stared off at some unknown point. Marie, on the other hand, was hysterical.

"My babies!" she cried before her wail devolved into wracking sobs. Tears streamed down Marie's face, streaking her mascara. She let out another wail, this one more of a moan. The officers led them to the waiting ambulance and the two small body bags within.

Jill quietly excused herself and headed back to her own house. Sergeant Branagh gave her a concerned look, but let her go. As soon as the door closed behind her, she fell against it and let herself slide to the floor, legs tucking up to her chest as she began to cry.


	4. Chapter 4

_AN: A bit of a small update, but I didn't want to wait any longer to get something up. Hopefully now that I'm moved into my new place and have a more permanent work situation, I'll be able to focus back on writing again. Thanks for the patience._

* * *

The next day, despite it being a Saturday, Chief Irons held a press conference. "I have my best detectives working around the clock to find the killers and bring them to justice," he repeatedly assured the reporters gathered in the RPD's conference room. It was the usual bullshit that any experienced journalist would immediately see for what it was – a lot of words that basically meant they still knew next to nothing. After hamming it up to the press for a half hour or so, as Irons was known to do, everyone was dismissed and led back to the main lobby. As the chief passed Carlsen and Ford on the way out, he leaned close to them and angrily hissed, "You two better figure this out, and quick." Both detectives just stood there seething as Irons shuffled out. They could hear his fake laughter down the hall as he caught up to and began talking with one of the reporters.

"Jesus. We're not miracle workers – what does he expect us to do?" asked Carlsen, more rhetorically than actually looking for an answer.

Ford just shook his head. "Maybe if he just let us deploy the STARS. I sure as hell don't want to go traipsing around the woods looking for cannibals myself. I mean seriously, this makes six murders now. At the very least, that easily pushes this into FBI territory."

"I guess all we can do for now is hope Mitaki discovers something new this time around," Carlsen said with a skeptical sigh, not terribly optimistic about those odds. "Come on. Let's get some coffee."

* * *

The chief's office may have once been relatively spacious if it wasn't for Irons' gigantic mahogany desk, a hodgepodge of framed paintings and awards adorning the walls, and no less than a dozen stuffed and mounted animals – everything from deer and elk heads to an eagle positioned in mid-takeoff. Ada wasn't sure how the latter was legal. She felt as though their lifeless, glass eyes were staring at her. Maybe the chief intended it to seem that way.

She waited patiently for Irons to arrive, seated on one of the high-backed chairs directly across from the desk, one shapely leg crossed over the other. He wouldn't be expecting her. In fact, this would be their first meeting, though Ada already knew plenty about the chief – of which precious little was flattering. Everything from his terrible spending habits, two dropped assault charges, a messy divorce, an overturned rape allegation dating back to his college days, and even some of his more distasteful hobbies as of late were all in the dossier she had looked over before taking this job. Were Ada unaware of just how much of his background had been expertly doctored out of public record, she may have questioned the sanity of those who had given him the position of chief. There was a reason her employer had been so easily able to manipulate the man.

The heavy, wooden door eased open, and Ada quickly straightened her black pencil skirt before folding her hands in her lap. Irons plodded in, making it two steps before abruptly coming to a halt, realizing he was not alone. His gaze snapped up, eyes narrowing in suspicion as they settled on Ada.

"Who – how the hell did you get in here?" he stammered angrily, taking a menacing step towards her.

She calmly raised a hand to stop him. "Relax," Ada cautioned, keeping her voice smooth and sultry. "We work for the same people."

Irons paused, looking Ada up and down. The way his porcine eyes lingered on certain portions of her anatomy made her skin crawl, but she effectively kept herself from displaying any disgust. "I've never seen you before. How do I know you aren't lying?" Despite his words, most of the wariness was gone from his voice, replaced with a tired acceptance. The door swung sluggishly shut as he took a seat, his chair groaning slightly at the sudden burden. Irons slouched back, his portly gut testing the limits of his poorly ironed dress shirt.

"Maybe this will persuade you."

Ada leaned forward and handed him a yellow envelope. Irons snatched it away from her before thumbing through the contents. When he was satisfied, he stuffed it hurriedly into a desk drawer.

"Okay, fine. I believe you. But why are you here?"

"Your usual contact couldn't make it, had some unexpected business he had to take care of. I have some instructions for you. You are to send a formal request on Monday to the FBI for assistance in your current murder investigation. They will then proceed to send a couple of their special agents out to join your homicide team."

The chief's eyes widened. "What!? Why the hell would I want to do that? It's hard enough holding back my own detectives; there's no way I could fend off the FBI."

"They shouldn't be a problem. I think you'll find these particular FBI agents to be very… amenable." Ada's lips curled up in a sly smirk.

"Christ," he muttered, the meaning of what Ada had just told him sinking in. "It figures that they're on the payroll, too."

She continued on. "The RPD should also put out an advisory warning people to stay in the city, to stay indoors at night, and avoid stopping on any country roads if at all possible. There's too much risk of more people getting killed or seeing something they shouldn't, and we can't afford to have any more attention brought to this case than there already is."

"I was already planning on it. Shit, this is going to turn into such a mess."

His analysis was likely correct. With Independence Day only a week away, the likelihood of people following any such advisories was relatively low. But it wasn't Ada's job to figure out how to make it work – as long as the message was delivered, she got her money. _Not my circus, not my monkeys._

She rose to leave. "One last thing," she began, switching to a more forceful tone. "Under no circumstances are you to deploy the STARS beyond their usual duties unless otherwise instructed. Wouldn't want them stumbling upon any of our employer's handiwork – or the teams trying to clean it up. Is that clear?"

His face hardened into a scowl, and Ada swore she could see his bushy moustache twitch in irritation. She figured the pig didn't appreciate being ordered around by a woman, especially one half his age, but Irons nodded reluctantly regardless. "I didn't intend on it."

"Very well. I'd best be going – I can show myself out."

Ada heard the chief grunt in uneasy acknowledgement as she slipped out of the room, the door closing behind her with a gentle thump. _Easy money._

* * *

Chris was surprised to find that he was the first member of Alpha to the station on Monday. Stepping into the office, he flicked on the light switch before starting up the coffee maker and taking a seat at his desk. The coffee maker started to rumble as the water within began percolating. _Maybe Barry is right,_ he thought, staring in bewilderment at the disorganized mass of papers and random other items that was rapidly overtaking his desk. _Maybe I_ should _try and get this straightened up._

He had barely begun on the first pile of paperwork when Jill walked in. She headed for her own desk, directly behind his. "Mornin' Jill."

"Morning," she responded, her tone uncharacteristically brusque and monotone.

 _Odd,_ he thought. Jill, the only true morning person on the team, was usually annoyingly chipper by now. She didn't appear particularly angry, Chris noted, trying to figure out what could have caused this sudden change over the weekend, but there was a certain stoniness to her expression that hadn't been there before. Maybe it was just an exceptionally bad case of the Mondays. He decided not to push it. In the time since they had become partners Chris had learned that if it was any of his business, Jill would tell him whenever she felt it appropriate. He continued sorting out his desk.

Jill turned on her computer and started on her work. After a moment Chris heard her typing slow to a stop, and she inhaled sharply as if about to say something. "Chris…" she began hesitantly, pausing as if deciding to continue. He stopped shuffling papers around and listened. "Do you think they'll end up sending us out to search for the people committing all those murders?"

That wasn't on the list of things he had thought she might say, but if Chris was being honest, the thought had crossed his mind plenty of times over the past few weeks. He spun his chair to face her. "They could I suppose. If they figure out where to start looking there's no reason we wouldn't be the first ones out there. I definitely wouldn't mind a chance to kick some cannibal ass," he remarked with a lopsided grin.

There was no humor in her voice as she looked him dead in the eyes and quietly but resolutely replied, "Me too."

* * *

On Wednesday, Carlsen and Ford were startled to find two well-dressed men waiting for them in their office. One flipped through the thick case file on their desk while the other looked around the office as if getting a feel for the place.

"Uh, excuse me," Ford began, a hint of annoyance in his voice as he moved forward to take back the file. "Can we help you?"

"Yes, actually," the one now standing face to face with Ford responded before presenting a badge. "I'm Special Agent Tom Isaacs, and this is my partner Special Agent Andrew Swanson. Your chief requested help from the Bureau in hopes we could lend some fresh perspective to your case. I presume you are Detectives David Ford and Neil Carlsen?"

Both detectives' eyebrows shot up in surprise. "No kidding. Man, are we glad to see you."

They all shook hands. Isaacs gestured back towards the file. "Is that everything in there?"

"Just about. Our medical examiner has a little bit of information that hasn't made it in yet – mostly just the lab results from the most recent crime scene, and she's keeping the DNA results at her lab – wouldn't really help us all that much without her to tell us what we were looking at anyway," Carlsen explained.

"Excellent," declared Isaacs, beaming. "I think we'll go have a chat with her tomorrow. As for now, if we can get a copy of everything in the case file, including the photographs, we'd like to spend a bit more time studying it back in the hotel."

"Yeah, sure," Ford agreed. "Right this way. You guys want coffee? It's not _good_ , but it's free."

Swanson chuckled. "Free is the best kind of coffee, Detective."


	5. Chapter 5

A nearby streetlight cast its tired glow into the otherwise dark studio apartment, its yellow light divided into stripes across the ceiling by the partially closed blinds covering the window. Distant fireworks still crackled and popped at irregular intervals, the tail end of numerous Independence Day celebrations in and about town. Chris grumbled softly to himself as he tried to ignore it and get back to sleep. The numbers 2:03 burned red on the face of his alarm clock as he took a peek and groaned. Less than four hours until his alarm went off. He never slept well when it got warmer out, but this night was particularly bad. His tired brain's misinterpretation of the fireworks for small arms fire put his mind back in a place and time he would rather not relive and set his nerves on edge. At least it was a Sunday and he could sleep in if need be. His eyes slowly began to close.

Chris' phone rang abruptly, jarring him awake. He let out an aggravated groan as he propped himself up on one arm and snatched the receiver from atop his nightstand.

"Hello?"

"Chris? Chris!" the caller frantically stammered, sounding panicked. "It's me, Billy!"

"Billy who?"

"Billy Rabbitson!"

Chris was fully awake now, and pissed. Billy had been one of his best friends in high school back in upstate New York, but the two hadn't talked more than a few times since. Between Billy leaving to study biochemistry at MIT and Chris' stint in the Air Force, there just hadn't been much time. He would have been glad to get a call from his old buddy if it weren't for the fact that he had been charred to a crisp in a plane crash a couple months earlier. Chris had even been at the funeral, seen the casket, the whole nine yards.

"Listen dude, whoever you are, if you're pranking me me…" he warned, brow furrowed, trying to determine if it was actually his friend or just some asshole with a twisted sense of humor.

The voice replied, "Chris, I swear to God I'm not fucking with you. I'm about to be in a world of hurt if you don't help me."

Billy only swore when things were really bad. "Why don't you start with the part where you aren't dead. Because I seem to be a little behind the curve on that one." It sounded like him, it _really_ did, but Chris was still skeptical.

"No time, and I don't know if they've tapped this line. I need to meet you, right now. Something huge has happened, something terrible, and I found out and now they're after me."

Chris rubbed his temples and reached for the water bottle he kept by his bed. "They? What kind of stuff?"

"Stuff that's going to blow that cannibal case your homicide department is working on out of the water."

 _How the hell could he know anything about that?_ Billy or not, if the person on the other end of the phone potentially had information that could lead to them catching the cannibal murderers, he wasn't going to let it slip away.

"Okay," Chris agreed. He took in a deep breath and let it out through his nose before swinging his legs over the edge of his bed and grabbing the rumpled pair of jeans he had been wearing the day before.

. "Where do you want to meet?"

"How soon can you get to the old diner on the edge of town?"

"Emmy's? Fifteen minutes, ten if I really push it." He tucked the phone into his shoulder so he could more easily put on his pants.

"Well, hurry. I don't think I have much time before they find me. Please, Chris. Hurry."

There was a click on the other end as Billy hung up. Chris stood and slipped on a pair of sneakers, then loaded his .45 and tucked it into the back of his pants. He rushed out the door and down a set of concrete steps to the parking lot.

The Mustang rumbled to life, and he floored the gas pedal as he entered the main roadway, the 400 horsepower engine roaring as Chris was pushed back in his seat. Luckily, as he expected, there were only a handful of cars out at this time of morning. Except for a couple bars, most businesses were closed. Their dark windows rushed past in a blur. He swerved to pass a slow-moving semi-truck then locked the brakes to make a screeching turn onto Crescent Street. Emmy's 24-Hour Diner was a short ways ahead.

Emmy's was a typical greasy spoon that seemed like it had been borrowed straight from the 1950s, usually playing host to at least a couple truckers in need of a coffee break, or farmers from the surrounding area getting some breakfast and looking to chew the fat before a long day of work. Multi-colored neon glared from signs in the windows, only adding to its retro feel. Over his short time living in Raccoon Chris had become a regular, and a few familiar, tired faces nodded a welcome as jangling bells announced his entrance. He looked around, but saw no sign of Billy.

A cute, pink-clad waitress – Sandra if memory served – looked up from the table she was wiping off. "Oh, hey Chris," she greeted with a grin. "You're out later than usual."

He ran a hand over his face, hoping Billy was just late for whatever reason. "Yeah… I'm trying to find someone. They should have been here by now."

Sandra nodded. "Well, there was someone here just a couple minutes ago, said that you would be showing up and if he left before you got here that I was to pass along a note. He seemed pretty nervous." Her expression changed to a mixture of concern and curiosity. "Is everything okay?"

"Honestly, I don't know. What did he look like?"

She thought for a second. "Uh… longish, dark hair? Skinny. He wore glasses. Other than that, just kinda normal." Although vague, her description fit his old friend. "Wait, let me grab you the note."

Sandra ducked into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a napkin loosely folded in half. Chris quickly opened it.

Scribbled messily in pen was a small drawing. Chris just stared at it, equal parts bewildered and perturbed. _Why in the hell did he draw a shovel?_ "Did he say what it means?"

Sandra shook her head. "No, just that you were the only one who'd figure it out."

Chris puzzled over it for a moment. _What's something only he and I would know?_

Then it hit him. "Thanks Sandra! I'll see you later." He dashed for the door.

"Alright," she said, sounding a little confused. "Don't be a stranger."

The Mustang screeched out of its parking spot, tearing back onto the road.

When Chris and Billy had been kids, they both had been really into the idea of being secret agents. Figuring they needed a code, Billy had suggested that they use small, simple drawings – hieroglyphs, he had called them – to represent different things and places. The shovel had represented the maintenance shed at the nearby city park, one of their regular hangouts.

Chris headed north toward Raccoon Park, hoping he had interpreted his friend's note correctly.

Adrenaline was now surging through his veins, and when he got there, he practically flung himself out of the car and began sprinting for the run-down shed. The far-too-narrow beam of his flashlight swept erratically across the base of the treeline. Drawing up on the shed, he pulled out the .45 and clicked the safety off. The door was already slightly ajar, and he gently shouldered it open, cautiously moving in as he swept the gun and light over the building's interior.

No one else was there, but the haphazardly scattered tools and scuff marks in the dust on the floor suggested a possible recent struggle. He briefly contemplated calling for backup, but what would he tell them? His friend was back from the dead, and said friend had just disappeared again without a trace _and_ without Chris having even seen him in the first place – and the only evidence he had was a drawing of a shovel on a napkin and a messy park maintenance shed? At best he'd just get laughed at and told he needed a vacation. No, he was definitely on his own for this one.

Not sure whether to feel worried for his friend or pissed that he had been led on a wild goose chase at the wee hours of the morning, Chris decided to do a cursory search of the shed.

Something caught his eye. The corner of a yellow folder stuck out from underneath a shelf. Chris grabbed it, noting the bulk of its contents as he slowly undid the string holding it closed.


End file.
